Page 140 of The Cheerleader

She half laughs, half sighs, sounding relieved. “How did you know it was me? You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. Even through the phone line.”

I think about the things I whispered in her ear last night, and it seems like a century ago. I grunt in response, and then the words I need to say materialize.

“I know exactly what you mean. Did you talk to Liz?”

“Yes.” Her word is a groan, and she tells me what happened in a quick breathless monologue, like the story’s been waiting to burst out of her, like she needed to get rid of it. I feel the burden of all that happened heaped onto me like a gift. The need to fix things for her, to erase her problems and pain, surges.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, princess. I’ll talk to her⁠—”

“You can talk to her, but not on my behalf. I’ll settle things between us. I’m not giving up on Liz. Not ever. Someday she’ll realize that and maybe decide to not give up on me.”

I nod, then realize she can’t see me. But I don’t know what to say. I’m not going to lay all my shit about my old man on her now, not when she’s already feeling bad about Liz. Not when there’s nothing she can do about it except what she’s already doing—existing in my world.

With a brighter voice, she says, “Our family got a nice Christmas gift. My dad got a new job.”

“Perfect. You can buy a big turkey now and toss out the pigeon.”

She laughs. “You’re terrible.” She breathes the words, making them sound like she’s telling me I’m her hero. “There’s a catch though,” she adds.

My heart stutters. “I hate fucking catches—except in football.”

She laughs again, and I can picture the eye roll. “My dad’s job is in California, and my parents are moving out there the week after Christmas… I’ll be going out for a visit during break.”

“Are you shitting—I mean kidding me?”

“I know—they work fast for people over the hill. But the company—McDonnell Douglas—has a place for them to rent until they find something permanent. It’s south of Los Angeles.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say we could both be in California, but it’s a foolish thought. Since when have I been given to foolish thoughts, pipe dreams about my future? Never.

I keep my mouth shut, even when she asks me about football and any news.

I don’t tell her that I’m having a meeting with the 49ers because what’s there to tell?

I’m not a predictor of the future, so I shut down the conversation when she asks about the draft. I don’t mention that it’s next week and that my roommates are coming back to the apartment to celebrate—a foolish, premature plan that could turn into a funeral for my dead football career in a snap.

“Dad’s yelling from the next room that I’ve been on the phone long enough.” She sighs. “I swear I hate long distance charges more than poisonous snakes.”

“I’ll call you next time.” The charges will be killer when she gets to California, but I don’t care if I have to sell a football to call her.

“Promise? Don’t wait too long.” She gives me her parents' number in Suffield and in California, and I realize she’ll be home alone.

For the first time since I got my license at sixteen so I could drive the farm’s truck, I wish to hell I owned a car. Because I’d drive there to see her in the flesh and alone the second her parents leave.

Going for a run every morning, sometimes to the grocery store for provisions, keeps me from getting lazy. The rest of my time I spend cleaning the apartment, working out at the gym, and reading.

On Christmas night, I called Susie to make sure she received the gift I mailed to her. She said it was quite a spark on Christmas morning—her words, not mine—when she opened it. Her parents asked all about me. She told them I was a farmer and a football player, and my chest tightened impossibly. She told them that she was seeing me, that we were together, and hoped I didn’t mind.

Fuck no, were my exact words.

Now, my chest still sizzles with greed every time I think about her words. She said she adored the necklace and swore she’d wear it every day from now on. I scraped together the remains of my football allowance to buy it for her—a gold necklace with a princess crown pendant. The charm was supposed to be for a bracelet, but I insisted to the jeweler that it belonged on a necklace where everyone could see it.

Today, Christmas seems like a long time ago. At the same time, anger flares with fresh vigor when I think about my phone call home on Christmas morning.

I only wanted to talk to Mom and Wally, but my old man complained in the background, and Mom and he ended up in a loud, lopsided fight.

I sent Wally a gift, a football, the one I ran for a touchdown with in my last game. He was over the moon about it, but he told me he wanted me to autograph it. I almost promised him I would.

My agent—Harry—is picking me up in twenty minutes. I dress in my suit and tie. We’re meeting the recruiter from the 49ers for lunch, and I swear I’m going to order the biggest meal on the menu.